It’s a new year and time for all of us to take up unrealistic expectations of ourselves and what our futures might hold. Now I’m not cynical or dicky enough to begrudge someone their resolutions. If a person wants to use the New Year as a starting point to discover a better self, more power to them – and truthfully as I wrote that I thought it sounded sarcastic but it wasn’t (I have trouble expressing sincerity. Pity me). Life, however, is stacked against resolutionists. Because if it was easy to improve yourself, there would be a lot less shitty people. First of all, great job world picking the dead of winter as the time when people should make changes in their life. Winter is about death and hibernation. I spent one Boston winter unable to leave my apartment. You can’t improve when you’re living the life of a bear. Most of our bad habits are born out of a need to cope with shitty aspects of our lives, and there’s nothing like February to bring a light to the darkness of our mediocrity. Already I need a drink.
Actually I didn’t make a resolution not to drink this year. Please. In fact, like every year, I didn’t make a resolution at all. See people who make resolutions are trying to make a better version of themselves. Unlike these people, I have no need to ‘improve’ myself. I’m perfect the way I am. #Confidence. Further, at a young age I made a vow that I would be the smallest person possible. Then at 11 my body betrayed me and I hit a growth spurt. And although I am not Gisele Bundchen levels of tall, I am above average. Even though, I might be large of limb, I’ve remained very small of spirit and generosity. In fact, the taller I got, the metaphorically smaller I became. I rather enjoy it. I had a friend post on Facebook how hard it is to be bigger person all the time. I almost found him inspirational enough to change myself but then I had a cookie instead.
So while my friend shares with the Facebook world his struggles for humanity, I will fight the good fight for shits everywhere. When life hands me lemonade, I make lemons and then I make lemon juice and drip it into the eyes of babies. Also, if I haven’t made this clear, I’m not one of those shits whose shitiness society forgives because they’re secretly a genius and also male sociopath (looking at you every iteration of Sherlock. Why are male sociopaths hot and female sociopaths bitches?); I’m just lazy and selfish (thanks middle class upbringing for despoiling this beautiful soul of grace. I’d like to be a good person but my expectations of life fell short so I’m sad.
If, however, I had to make a resolution, it would be something generic like ‘be nicer.’ And sometimes I think about doing that. See, I hang out with strangely nice people. Sometimes I feel like I’m a character in a fantasy novel and my friends are like little fairies whose duty it is to make me not a bitch. Fail. Although, I have aspirations (aspirations = future failure dressed in ‘but I tried’). For instance, my roommate, Foxy Lady, even if she doesn’t like someone, she can pretend to be nice enough that they think she likes them. If you’re reading this, I mean you. She really doesn’t like you. Sorry about it. Well, Foxy would say she’s sorry; but I would just laugh and laugh at you. And that’s probably the defining difference between us: she would never laugh in your face. Not that she’s disingenuous. I get that politeness is out of vogue and stands in the way being ‘true to oneself’ and ‘keeping it real’ but I really applaud and admire Foxy’s devotion to it. I think that’s the reason people like her so much. Or else it’s her boobs (not to objectify her, but I feel like her brains and boobs run about even as my favorite things about her). Mine are a lot smaller, so that might also be a reason people find me off-putting. My girls are barely a handful; although I’ve been called a handful.
In a society that cultivates and attends to assholes, she’s a rare gem, a genuinely good person. More people should aspire to be like her. Then again, as a person who lives their lives in the realm of aspirations, more people should just be like she. Not me, of course, because I’m damaged in a specifically special way. And I’ll continue to be this way until it stops being cute. And don’t roll your eyes because it still is.
I could make some changes. For instance, don’t correct people’s grammar. I don’t do it often, but, when I do, it’s because I want to be an asshole. Let’s be honest, no one has ever corrected another’s grammar or pronunciation out of the goodness of their heart. That’s why we have the term grammar Nazis because you’re the dregs of society if you partake in the blitzkrieg of grammar correction. Also you’re lying if you say that you love grammar. You love your parents or your friends or your dog, not a semi-colon. If you’re editing an article or a paper, go for it, correct the shit out of that grammar; but when having a convo? Stop being a dick – unless the other person is a bigger dick, then correct every fucking word. Dick battle! Also don’t edit this: writing drunk is equal to the spoken word.
I could also hold open the elevator door for people who are running and shouting ‘hold the door.’ Joke, never going to happen. Take the stairs.
I floss regularly, so I’m good there.
I think drinking is the best part of who I am, so I should maybe do that more. Rum balls in the desk drawer. #professional
I love my body, tiny boobs and all. Don’t want to change that at all.
I could volunteer more or do charity. Would sleeping around more count?
But if I really had to make a resolution for 2017 it would probably be to get less testy about things posted online (so says the girl who has to post things on Facebook to get people to read the random shit she writes while drunk on her couch watching Bridget Jones while her dog judges her and probably some humans too, but I’ve never given much thought to people who judge another’s worth based on their pop culture tastes. Bitch, I like watching Bridget Jones movies and listen to Britney Spears and I do neither ironically I’m too old to do things ironically. If you’re going to judge me, do it based on the fact that I rarely do anything to benefit the Earth – except walk to work and limit my water usage – or other humans – except giving great advice). And see that last parenthetical comment shows how I can get irrationally upset about the opinions of others, others who play no actual part in my life (I actually have amazing friends who just don’t give a shit – like I recently texted a friend that I wanted his cat to fondle my boob and he didn’t bat an eye. That’s friendship. They also continually encourage me to visit them, which I still find amazing, especially since they’ll be having a baby soon. Wait, do they only want to see me because I’ll never be allowed back in their house after the baby comes? They might be better parents that I ever imagined. Not a great feat. I have very low expectations for them.)
To be honest, I probably won’t even do that because I just don’t believe in resolutions for myself. If God wanted me to be a better person, he would have done a better job in making me. Or you know genetics or science or whatever. I can’t fight predestination. But good luck to all of you in your attempts to make 2017 great again…whoever you may be. Some might have termed 2016 the worst, but at least Obama was president and men weren’t legally allowed to rape or sell me or others.
Happy New Year!